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Heroes Don’t Always Wear Capes
“Eleventh Grade”
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There are times when certain school assignments will come and I can drown myself in them as sort of an escape. Miss Ellison’s English class is like this for me on a regular basis. The essay topics she assigns always give me great pause to use my imagination and transport myself to the future: the career I would like to have; what I would do if I found out my best friend was lying to me; or what I would want people to say about me at my funeral. I also love her creative topics that allow me to tell stories with unexpected wry twists, the kind of stories that she would read to the class, and usually they will laugh.
Many days I can find Miss Ellison alone her room grading papers, and I will stop in to chat for a few minutes. I like her, I really like her. But she is a bit of a strange bird, and most of the girls see her as wacky.
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I worry about Miss Ellison. I wonder if she has ever married. She strikes me as a person who really only has relationships with cats. Multiple cats. She is quite short, but she loves to wear black go-go boots with everything. They match all of her outfits, because the only colors she will sport are black and white, and of course, the siren red to match the lips. She is very dramatic.
But she is passionate about writing, and her love of English literature is inspiring. She has been kind to me and very generous with the comments she puts on my essays. I am not saying I don’t deserve the “As” I get, I just appreciate how much time it must take her to write so many words of praise. Sometimes I get my essays back with a paragraph of notes scrawled in blue felt. I don’t see many written remarks on my friends’ papers. So I try to be kind to Miss Ellison. But this is hard when everyone considers her to be a bit kooky.
One day, after lunch, she stands in front of class, explaining a new assignment, when she is met with laughter and mockery. The reaction is not one she intends, so she decides, instead, to feel flattered by some seemingly witty remark she must have made. Miss Ellison is explaining the importance of persuasive writing and how mastery of this application will help us when we are writing our college letters for our hopeful acceptance.
The lecture goes on for some time, but the thing that gets our attention is a fountain pen she is waving in her hand steadily as she emphasizes each point. At one place in her articulation, she motions to her face, to tuck the hair that is sweeping across her lips back to its rightful place behind her ear. She does not realize that her fountain pen has sprung a leak. There is ink all over her index fingers and she has inadvertently smeared cobalt blue across her upper lip, veering slightly right, across her cheek.
The girls behind me notice right away that Miss Ellison has no idea there is ink on her hands. They try to help her along by letting her know that she didn’t quite get a morsel of her lunch, which is nestled on the upper corner of her left lip. They speak to her rather hushedly, as if they are doing her a favor by saving her a future embarrassment.
Poor Miss Ellison. She didn’t see that one coming. She has now masterfully created the other half of a handlebar mustache with ink she is still oblivious to wearing. The girls are having such a hoot over this that Miss Ellison thinks she is in company with good friends. She continues with the importance of persuasive writing by giving some examples, while the sniggering cannot manage to stifle itself.
Finally, after ten or fifteen minutes of this bewildering amusement, Miss Ellison retires to her desk with an expression as if to say, “I must be connecting with these girls, after all, I have never seen such gaiety in class.” She reminds us that, if we still have questions, to bring our essay idea to her for advice. I have to get to her. I can’t stand it any longer. While everyone is settling in and finishing off their parlor joke, I slide through the first two rows to approach Miss Ellison.
In a quiet and very private voice, I tell Miss Ellison, “Your pen has leaked, and it has now accidentally smeared from your fingers to all over your face. I think some of the girls were just not sure how to tell you.” I try to be covert. I don’t want my friends to know I ratted them out. But I don’t want this kind, dingy woman to walk around the rest of the afternoon looking like she made a head dive into a blueberry pie.
“Oh, my goodness gracious.” She hurriedly reaches for her pocketbook and slides her hands around until she finds her tiny compact mirror, attached to a silver tube of red lipstick. “I had no idea, girls. This is pretty funny. I didn’t know you were trying to trick me into a new makeover. If you don’t mind me saying, I know I’m in need of some color, but I think this blue is a little too dark for my skin tone. I was hoping for something in a Tahitian tan.” She laughs with them, and everyone feels relaxed.
I can’t believe it. Miss Ellison isn’t mad at all. In fact, she acts as though she is really amused, as if we just played a slumber party trick on her because we like her so much.
I learn today that sometimes when people are trying to make you feel silly, it is important to use a little self-deprecating humor and laugh at yourself. This takes everybody off guard and lowers defenses.
I learn that even the most apparently dingy woman can walk through halls with inner confidence that no one else can detect until you really test her mettle.
I learn that when you let people see the best of you, they really come to like you for who you truly are. If you are comfortable with yourself, it shouldn’t matter what other people think of you. Never let others’ opinions define you.
Be gracious, be sincere, be unflappable. These qualities will return you safely and happily to your cats, or whatever else might be waiting at home.
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